A Strange Trip

Yeah, kind of weird headline for a posting about our holidays, isn’t it? First of all, I am back. I guess I’ve had the three most challenging weeks in years and that’s what my headline refers to.

It took us a long drive down to the south of France and we spend it listening to quiet music, talking little, holding hands a lot. In retrospective, I guess our trip down to the coast was what W calls purification. Letting it all behind and diving into something new. Perhaps you can already sense the strange kind of sadness in here. Leaving it all behind and heading so far away from anything I’m used to and regard as important anchors for my shattered mind made me feel sad. I got a look of what I have missed. So many places and people, so many unknown colours and smells, so much to discover. At the end of our journey, when we had checked in our hotel, I just broke down and cried, before falling asleep. When I awoke, I felt lost, even though John was by my side. I understood that I define myself through my surroundings, through places, people and things I’m used to. I actually had no idea of who I was in France. It was like the person I am had dissolved, evapourated into the hot, sunny air. I tried to tell myself that I’d just need to adjust to this new situation and relax. But relaxing while feeling vanishing is not easy. I guess during the first three or four days, I was staring very often at my wedding ring, reaching for John’s hand to reassure me I was still there. Weird. I guess he had seen that coming, at least he had brought my collar and the cuffs and when we were in our hotel room, I always wore them, even at night (air-conditioning rules, I tell you).

Seeing the sea with its bright beach and the palms fluttering in the summer breeze made my cry again. It was the first time I saw the Mediterranean and again I felt like all I had missed was spread before my eyes, to remind me of how absurd and small my life was. Instead of enjoying it, it made me feel worthless and insignificant. It was all too much, too bright, too beautiful and finally, I could no longer withdraw from hurting myself. I guess in the past few weeks before we started off to France, there have been hints I might do it again. When I finally resolved the blade from my pencil sharpener and cut myself, I felt like losing myself even more, but even as I hate to admit it, it felt good in a bad kind of way. John was disappointed and made me feel it by just ignoring me for a couple of hours. I know he was offended. I myself was offended and began thinking aloud about leaving by train, heading home and just letting him enjoy his holidays without that bad person I am. It was then when he did what I might have needed right from the beginning. He beat me until his anger had vanished and until I felt whole again. I did not just accept the pain and the bruises, but began relaxing. When I found that being beaten felt wonderful, I felt guilty. You know, there’s a big difference between being beaten during a session and being beaten because your partner is mad with you. To be honest, it was the first time in our whole relationship that John, as he put it, lost control. Usually he’s a very restrained person and seeing him out of himself was…yes, beautiful. It was no session, no game, it was just honest, and I liked it. But then again, I felt guilty for savouring it. He felt guilty as well, for his outburst and for liking that mere power over me. It was weird, but admitting to one another that this kind of thing had not only helped us but somehow made us feel relaxed and yes, horny, was a relief. And I can see why he felt at the end of words. There’s no need to forgive you, Love.

We had some very intense conversations about yet unrevealed parts of us, desires and thoughts, and suddenly I felt at ease, you know, like really being there for holidays, and I enjoyed strolling ’round small villages and overflowing cities with my husband and Master by my side. Finally, I was able to enjoy and even more important, feel myself. To be honest, I think this summer, not only our holidays, but the whole of it, helped me embrace the fact that I will never ever be a normal person with normal kinks and normal needs. I have struggled with being abused my whole life and I’m kind of sick of it. I’ve got a feeling that embracing being a pervert provides me with so much more pleasure and freedom. But I’m realistic. I’ve been at this point so many times before and then tried again to be normal. I wish I could finally understand that I really need this, without feeling guilty. I guess there’s a point of safe return I have crossed very early. There is no such thing as returning to a normal life, because I never had one! We’ll see.

During our trip, John had me edging several times, but did not allow me to climax. So yeah, today is day 124 of chastity and therefore it’s the longest time I’ve ever been chaste🙂 I’m proud of myself, but at the moment I’d die for being allowed to cum. The past three weeks had so many horny situations for me up their sleeves, especially during our days with Leo, that it’s very hard to endure.

I had a lot of occasions to be Ginny and I really enjoyed myself. You know, pratice makes perfect, and at least I have learned to put on make up without looking like an owl😉 I believe less is more, and that’s even more true when it’s hot and mascara and lipstick try to run from your face. In those hot summer days I just used facial powder, waterproof mascara and a shiny lip gloss. John likes the look of it, but does not like how it feels when kissing. It’s a bit weird, but being not at home provided me with a whole new feeling of freedom concerning being Ginny. After a few days I did no longer mind what people might think about me and embraced being gurlish. I still can’t get a grip on why there’s Ginny in my life, but it feels amazing. I guess I have managed to figure out that being a woman is none of my goals, but being that gurl who has obviously a male physique really gets me going and that’s true for John, too. It’s a role I slip into which allows to be swishy and girly, you know, like shying away from killing spiders and embracing that kind of 50’s housewife-feeling. Being Ginny makes me feel glam, but humble and devoted to my husband. I really like that mix. Moreover, the more gurls I see, the more I find the idea of it fascinating and horny. Being kept from living as a man, being transformed into a sissy slut sounds like going one step further, you know.

So, I’m back, but I think I’ll need a lot more time to understand fully what has happened and what we will make out of that.

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